


it's starting to show

by paintedpomp



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Infidelity, M/M, With a Capital I, ennui as foreplay, gratuitous dirty talk, jon finally gets to see lovett's house The Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedpomp/pseuds/paintedpomp
Summary: “…why did you get married?” Lovett asked quietly.Jon shrugged, aware as he did of all the places along his body that he was touching Lovett. “I wanted to. I really wanted to be married to Emily, I guess.”Lovett nodded, and brought his free hand to rest on top of their clasped hands. Jon felt Lovett trace along the ridges of his knuckle, the bend of his wrist. It radiated everywhere in Jon’s body, just from Lovett lightly stroking his arm.





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**Author's Note:**

> All of this is fake but this one in particular is extremely, extremely fake. Please read the tags and skip if you aren't comfortable.

Lovett’s front room reminded Jon of sitting with his mom as a kid. On a lazy winter night like that, he’d sit with her on the couch and look out the window over the snow. He drank cocoa; she drank wine, and they shared a blanket but he still tucked his toes under her thigh to keep them warm. She would smile at him over the top of her magazine, and he’d spend hours staring at the way their porch light turned the white snow orange.

Lovett’s yard glowed orange too, not snow but millions of small light rocks. Lovett had told him it was because lawns are for “billionaires with golf courses and Midwesterners with too much free time,” two months ago when he was leaving the office early to meet the guys dumping rocks in his yard.

“Are you spacing out on me?” Lovett asked. “You can’t pester me for months about coming over to my unfinished house and then not even pay attention to me while you’re here.”

“Nah man,” Jon said. “It’s nice. It’s just… so grown up.”  

And it was. The walls were painted. Apart from a few piles of paper on the desk against the wall, it was clean. It made Jon nostalgic for Lovett’s first LA apartment, which was reliably a mess.

“Well excuse me, you have been living in an Anthropologie catalogue of marital bliss for years now, I’m allowed to grow up too.” Lovett said. “It’s what my daughter deserves,” he added after a beat, waving Pundit’s ears around and causing her to grumble and shift in his lap.

“Be nice to your dog,” Jon said.

“Doghter,” Lovett said.

Jon laughed, took a swig of his beer, and then handed it over to Lovett. He’d brought an IPA Lovett always said he didn’t like, but stole every five minutes “just for a taste.” Sure enough, Lovett took a tiny sip and handed it back wordlessly.

“This couch is from Article, obviously, because I’m a shill,” Lovett said, “but Ronan actually had that desk shipped out from Connecticut.” He waved in its general direction. “Seems like a waste of money to me, for all that he uses it.”

“Are you gonna give me the full HGTV rundown?” Jon asked, laughing.

“Hey, you see my beautiful face every day, you see my angel of a dog, so the house is really the only new element in this equation.”

“No, no, please, I think this could be a new calling if podcasting doesn’t work out,” Jon said. He could see it too, Lovett in the middle of an effusive rant about why he wouldn’t be able to flip a house. He could see him doing a lot of things.

“If podcasting doesn’t work out for us there’s a 50% chance its because we’ve been jailed as enemies of the state, but I’ll take it under consideration,” Lovett said, but he was smiling that little smile he always had when someone complimented him.

“The wall color is “ _Gray Cashmere_ ” because my walls are yuppies,” Lovett said, in a warm comforting voice that approximated an HGTV host’s. “I have decorative pillows on that arm chair because it gives the room character and shows that we have enough money for trivial things.”

Jon felt a flood of warmth, they way he often did for Lovett, for Tommy, for Emily, for his dog. He watched as Leo left his lap, started sniffing at Pundit, licked her head once, then laid down next to her in Lovett’s lap.

“Ohhhhh my god,” Lovett said, “Leo you are the second best dog ever. Don’t tell Lucca. I love you.”

Jon laughed again, and stuck his feet under Lovett’s thigh.

“Your wife texted me earlier,” Lovett said abruptly.

“I think my wife texts you more than she texts me,” Jon said.

“I mean fair, she likes me better,” Lovett said. “But she specifically asked me to look after you, and I can be pretty bad with the subtleties of human emotion, but is everything okay? She’s never been worried to leave you alone for four days before.”

Jon didn’t reply right away, just leaned forward and tangled his hands in Leo and Pundit’s fur.

“She didn’t have to ask you to babysit me or anything,” he said eventually. He scrubbed a hand over his face and laughed quietly. “I mean, she probably does like you better than me right now.”

“Why?” Lovett asked. Jon loved that, for all that he liked to talk, Lovett really knew how to leave space to listen. But Jon didn’t really know how to quantify the weird swirling in his gut that had plagued him in the days and weeks before Emily left town.

“It’s my fault,” he finally said. “I’ve been pretty… bad at home.”

“What do you mean, bad at home?” Lovett asked. “I know you’re one of my oldest and best friends, but you do understand that Emily is an ethereal blessing in both of our lives, right?”

Jon laughed a little, because she was. She was. “No, no, nothing bad. I’m just burnt-out I think.” He drank some more of his beer, then more again, then figured, fuck it, and finished the bottle.

“Ok, yeah, no, that frat-boy show of machismo wasn’t worrying,” Lovett said.

“Are you gonna show me the rest of the house, or are you gonna keep me quarantined in one room?” Jon asked, pushing at Lovett’s thigh with his feet enough to dislodge the dogs. Pundit nipped at Leo’s ear, and then they were off, playing on Lovett’s hardwood floor. “Do you have bodies hidden in the cellar or something?”

“Well, this room is actually finished, and “grown-up” or whatever,” Lovett said. “The rest is… not, so.”

“Oh come on, it’ll make me feel less like you’ve been replaced by a functioning adult,” Jon said.

“I’m going to ignore this enormous hypocritical deflection, but only for now,” Lovett said, wiggling off the couch and offering Jon a hand. The beer hit Jon as he stood up. God was he an old lightweight. To compensate, he popped the top off another and gestured broadly as if to say, “lead the way.” Lovett rolled his eyes, but did.

The kitchen was light, grays and pinks to be, as Lovett said, “pervasively homosexual.”

“Are you going to be cooking all the time now that you’ve made your Instagram debut?” Jon asked, rubbing a finger absently over the wood of the kitchen table, which was, much more familiarly, absolutely covered in paper.

“Well maybe once the Pulitzer Prize winner decides his bespoke desk is a better place to work on his book than my kitchen table,” Lovett said, “but I’ve always been a big believer in doing something perfectly, once, and leaving them wanting more.”

“Where is Mr. Farrow this week?” Jon asked, watching Lovett rearrange papers.

“At some symposium. Am I supposed to keep track of them all? I’m only human, unlike one Mr. Farrow.”

Jon bumped his shoulder into Lovett, and Lovett bumped back. “Can’t believe they left us to our own devices,” Jon said.

“Well, I’m used to it,” Lovett said softly, “but I don’t know what Emily was thinking.”

Lovett half-smiled up at him, creases forming at the corners of his eyes. He looked soft. He looked warm. Jon knew he should make a joke, instead of letting this moment stretch. Instead he just looked at Lovett’s face, and let that warmth overtake him again.

“Do you want to see the rest?” Lovett finally asked, and Jon just nodded.

The TV room had a framed picture of Jon, Lovett, Tommy, and Obama on one wall, a Pulitzer sitting on the bookshelf.

“Ronan’s in charge of the bookshelf,” Lovett said. “As you can see, he is a very busy man, can’t listen to his partner’s very successful podcast, can’t put books upright on a bookshelf, but you know, in his defense it’s a very big bookshelf.”

The bookshelf was big, wall-to-wall, and most of the books were in haphazard piles. But it could be good. Jon could see it: Lovett and Ronan together on the couch, surrounded by books, curled up with Pundit, both on Twitter.

He shook his head, a little. “Maybe he’s waiting until his own book can be on the shelf,” Jon said.

“To be fair, one of them already is. God it must be hard being so accomplished.”

“Lovett, there’s a framed picture of you and a US president in this room. A president who was your boss.”

Lovett laughed. “You were my boss, Mr. Favreau. The president was the president,” he said, but the weight had lifted some from his face. “Come on, let me show you my ridiculous gaming setup.”

“I’ve never really understood gaming,” Jon said as Lovett handed him a controller. “Usually I feel too guilty spending the time it takes to finish anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, video games are a waste of time,” Lovett said, sinking onto the couch. “Well I’ll have you know that video games are _art._ ”

Jon laughed, and then said, “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’d be good to have a better way to relax regularly but I can’t convince my brain that I’m not… wasting time.”

“Can’t relate,” Lovett said.

“Well,” Jon said, “I think that’s good. Like I’m _on_ until I’m _off_ and I can’t find a middle ground.”

Lovett hummed and booted up the game. Jon sat next to him on the couch and swigged from his beer.

“She was gone yesterday and I just literally spent the whole day in bed,” Jon said, while the game loaded. “Not in a good way, either. I really wanted to get up or call someone, but instead I just got up at 5pm to feed Leo and then spent the rest of the night on the couch refreshing Twitter.”

“Yeah,” Lovett said, tucking his legs up under him. “That I do understand. I did that last week. It never feels as good as you think it’s going to.”

He motioned for Jon’s beer and Jon passed it over, instant. “The nice thing about video games is you have an objective,” Lovett continued once he had handed the beer back. “You have a thing to get done that does not involve real consequences in any way. So, right now, the objective is to move this big shiny rock from one side of the course to another without dying.”

They played for a while, Jon totally unable to get the hang of on Lovett’s ridiculous gaming system and Lovett yelling out instructions he could barely follow, as Jon finished his beer and got another.

He felt more alive hanging out with Lovett than he had yesterday, and he liked that. Lovett made him want things. It was like his investment in minutiae was contagious. He was laughing by the time he and Lovett had died spectacularly 10 times in the game and finally called it quits.

Lovett broke out his bong from behind a special door in the entertainment system, and they took it outside to smoke, sat on a low brick wall in the backyard, dogs sniffing around in the dark.

“The yard is gonna be full of fairy lights,” Lovett said.

“What?” Jon said absently on an exhale, smoke catching the light from the kitchen.

“You know, fairy lights. Christmas lights for gay Jews. It’s gonna be lit up like a classy carnival, and I’m gonna get one of those bench swings, and it’s gonna be like my queer romantic dream.”

“Should I try to unpack the phrase “classy carnival?” Jon asked, and took another hit. But it _would_ be cute. It would be domestic. Emily would like it. Maybe he should ask her if they should put up lights in their yard. Maybe he should just do it, before she got back. Maybe then she’d stop worrying about him and his sudden inability to function when he wasn’t in front of a microphone.

Instead, he passed the bong back to Lovett, shuffled a little closer, and dropped his head on Lovett’s shoulder. Lovett was a little too short for it to be comfortable, but Lovett had smoked enough that he didn’t tense the way he sometimes did when Jon got physical with him.

“Are you guys gonna get married?” Jon asked finally.

“Are you my mother?” Lovett asked automatically, but Jon knew better than to react. Lovett fiddled with the piece of the bong and said, “I mean, neither of us cares that much, you know, we’ve been together so long, but, like… legally it makes sense. For tax reasons and stuff. We own a house together, you know? We’re committed.”

“No, I know,” Jon said. “I just find it so hard to imagine you married.”

“Oh yeah?” Lovett said, dislodging Jon’s head. “Is it because I legally couldn’t get married when we met?”

“No, Lovett,” Jon said.

“Is it because I’m so fucking immature—”

“ _No,_ Lovett—”

“Because, you know, I’ve been with Ronan longer than you’ve been with Emily—“

Jon grabbed Lovett’s hand from the air and squeezed it, hard. “I said no, Lovett.” Lovett jerked to try to get his hand back, but Jon didn’t let go. Lovett glared at him and Jon stuck his tongue out at him and Lovett scoffed but was smiling as he settled.

“It’s a lot of reasons, I guess,” Jon said, rubbing his thumb across Lovett’s hand absently. “You’ve always acted like it was something you didn’t even want to think about. Never mind talk about.”

Lovett squirmed. “I did seven years of long distance, Jon,” he said. “It’s long distance less often now, but it’s still like… not exactly traditional. It’s lonely, sometimes. And I just feel like I can’t be the one to ask, you know? Because I’d be asking him to give something up, or be tied down—”

“Lovett, you can be married and not be physically in the same place,” Jon said. “Look at me.”

Lovett rolled his eyes. “Jon, Emily is gone for four days.”

“Four nights,” Jon corrected, “five days.”

“Oh my _God_ , how are you going to survive,” Lovett said, but squeezed Jon’s hand where. They were still holding hands. Huh. Jon waited for it to be weird, but it wasn’t. It was something, but it wasn’t that. He slowly lowered his head back to Lovett’s shoulder and Lovett let him.

“…why did you get married?” Lovett asked quietly.

Jon shrugged, aware as he did of all the places along his body that he was touching Lovett. “I wanted to. I really wanted to be married to Emily, I guess.”

Lovett nodded, and brought his free hand to rest on top of their clasped hands. Jon felt Lovett trace along the ridges of his knuckle, the bend of his wrist. It radiated everywhere in Jon’s body, just from Lovett lightly stroking his arm.

He felt like he had in high school, holding hands with Will Hart, neither of them able to look at the other, neither want to pull away.

He and Will had talked while they held hands, while Jon got helplessly hard from a boy stroking his hand, while they sat in the backseat of their friend’s car waiting for them to buy weed or whatever dumb shit Jon didn’t want to be apart of. The tension had been taut as a pulled rubber band, and if they’d had five more minutes—

But of course, that hadn’t gone anywhere beyond ten weird minutes in a shitty car, and Jon had spent a lot of years not thinking about it at all.

The dogs came over Leo started scratching at Jon’s legs. Jon reached down and pet Leo with his free hand, and Lovett stopped petting Jon’s wrist. “Are you going to show me the rest?” Jon asked, looking at Leo.

“All that’s really left is the bedrooms,” Lovett said.

“Yeah,” Jon said, forcing his eyes up to meet Lovett’s. “Can I see?”

Lovett looked at him for a long time, then stood up and pulled him inside.

Lovett led the way up the stairs, holding his hand the whole time. Now Jon felt like he had when Mary Marthens took his hand and drew him away from a house party his freshman year of college. He felt like he had when Emily had grabbed his hand and pulled him into her apartment that first time.

They were walking up into the darkness, because Lovett hadn’t turned the hall light on, but that felt right too.

Lovett stopped at the top of the stairs, gently breathing, not looking back. Jon dropped Lovett’s hand, reached out and stroked Lovett’s side, felt his abdomen contract under his touch, then felt Lovett shudder and press into it. For all that Jon had touched him idly since he’d known him, he’d never felt something like that.

“Jon,” Lovett said. It was quiet. Jon walked him forward, until they ran out of road and Lovett finally turned to face him in the dark hallway. Jon stroked Lovett’s side again, ran his fingers along the waistband of Lovett’s jeans. Lovett’s hand was in the collar of his shirt. When had that happened? Lovett was so warm, eyes blown wide in the dark of the hallway.

Jon couldn’t sense the time between when they weren’t kissing and when they were. Lovett’s mouth wasn’t on his and then it was, his mouth opening soft and wet beneath Jon’s. Lovett’s tongue was in his mouth. His hand had slipped up to the back of Jon’s head, was pulling him down and Jon just. Lost it.

He slammed them hard into the wall and plastered the length of his body to Lovett’s, grabbed his head in both his hands and took everything he could. They made out like teenagers, sloppy and biting. Jon raked his fingernails up Lovett’s soft skin underneath his shirt, twisted a nipple under his fingers, felt Lovett quake with it. He felt like a live wire—like Lovett was a live wire too, and now they had touched they were going to black out the whole block.

Lovett’s free hand snaked down the front of Jon’s jeans, and Jon groaned as Lovett ground the heel of his palm into Jon’s hard dick. Lovett was hard too; he could feel it against his thigh. It made him feel powerful. It was like in his DC days when he took a hookup home and found their pussy wet and ready for him. Like when Emily straddled him when he woke up in the mornings and sank right down on his dick like she’d been waiting for it. Lovett was ready for him.

“Bedroom, Lovett,” he said. “Bed.”

Lovett hesitated a moment before hooking two fingers in Jon’s waistband and dragging him through a closed door. Lovett’s room was smaller than he would have thought, and tidier, only a few boxes stacked against one wall, but Jon was done contemplating interior design, because Lovett was sinking to his knees in front of him.

“Jesus Christ,” Lovett muttered, his fingers scrabbling at Jon’s jeans. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Jon batted his hands out of the way and undid his jeans himself, reaching straight into his boxers to liberate his aching dick. He held it straight for Lovett, pointed directly at his shining lips, and Lovett opened his mouth and swallowed it down.

Jon cursed, letting one hand tangle in Lovett’s hair. God he was good at this. He wondered if having a dick made you better at sucking them. Jon pet at Lovett’s cheek, his eyebrow, the stretch of his mouth where Jon’s cock was sliding past. Lovett was so, so beautiful like this.

Lovett pulled off his dick wetly, took it in hand and started mouthing at Jon’s balls. His nose was tucked into Jon’s groin, his hand jacking him smoothly, his wet little mouth closing tenderly around one ballsack. Jon’s knees nearly buckled.

Jon wanted to be touching him, wanted to be touching all of him. He cupped his face gently and pulled him up, ignoring Lovett’s noises of displeasure, pulled him to standing, stripped Lovett’s shirt off, and pushed him back onto the bed.

A back corner of Jon’s mind wondered if he’d be slowing down if Lovett wasn’t just as desperate for it as Jon was, if Jon’s dick wasn’t hanging out of his jeans wet with Lovett’s spit. But Lovett was wriggling out of his sweats and underwear as quick as he could, and Jon finally got to see his tight little body, his dick standing proud for Jon, before Lovett pulled him down and caught him in another kiss.

Jon rutted against him, mindlessly for a minute until Lovett lined up their cocks and wrapped a hand around both of them, soft skin against soft skin, delicious pressure that made something deep inside Jon twitch and buck forward. Lovett’s teeth were on his ear, on that spot Emily liked to worry while they were lazily making out. Lovett was solid underneath him and Jon wanted to be inside of him, wanted to claim some piece of him that he had been denied for so long.

He traced a finger down Lovett’s open thigh and pressed into his taint, laughing as Lovett groaned and squirmed beneath him.

“Let me,” Jon said, and watched Lovett nod like crazy, like he couldn’t stop until Jon’s finger slid further back to press into the warm creases of his hole.

“Keep touching yourself,” Jon said, and hitched one of Lovett’s thick thighs over his shoulder so he could see what he was doing.

Lovett’s hole was small and tight, and fluttered as Jon dug the top of his middle knuckle into it. He did this to Emily sometimes while he was eating her out, and she went crazy for it. So did Lovett, gasping and arching off the bed.

“Oh my God, Lovett,” Jon said, grabbing his own dick again and jerking it roughly. “Oh my god I wish I was inside of you. Want to be inside of you.”

“Yes,” Lovett moaned. “Please, want that.”

Jon spit on Lovett’s hole and pressed the head of his dick to it like he could will himself inside, stripping his dick faster as Lovett ground down on it, Jon’s precome slicking the way for the tip to start edging into Lovett’s body. Barely inside Lovett, Jon broke and came, come spurting into Lovett and all over his taint and the inside of his thighs.

“I’m gonna come, holy shit,” Lovett said, and then did, all over himself, painting stripes on his belly that seemed to just keep coming.

Jon felt like he was going to shatter like a plate as he fell next to Lovett on the bed. It was the first time they had stopped touching since he had taken Lovett’s hand out in the yard, and Jon felt bereft.

He took a shuddering breath and found Lovett’s hand again, and only loosely covered it with his own. He felt like he was going to start crying at any minute, which maybe would be an improvement on the shakiness. At least it would give all the… endorphins? emotions? somewhere to go.

“ _Fuck,”_ Lovett breathed.

“Yeah,” Jon said.

“You can’t just stick it in me with a little bit of spit and willpower, Jesus Christ straight boy,” Lovett said, squirming uncomfortably.

Jon laughed. Lovett was always making him laugh, but this time he felt out of control; once he had started he couldn’t stop. He curled himself into a ball at the top of Lovett’s mattress and laughed and laughed.

“Stop,” Lovett said, but Jon couldn’t.

“Jon, fucking _stop,”_ Lovett said again, and there it was, Jon was crying.

“Sorry,” he said, but it sounded choked and pathetic even to his own ears so he couldn’t say anything else. He felt Lovett slip off the bed to retrieve his clothes, and that was probably the smartest thing that either of them had done all night.

Jon cried a little more, then pulled himself together because he was a fucking adult. He rubbed the heels of his palms to his eyes, wondered vaguely where the dogs were.

Lovett was still shirtless but wearing his sweatpants again. His arms were wrapped around his belly protectively, and his face was inscrutable, but Jon still felt a lance of arousal at the sight of him.

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Lovett said blankly.

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Yeah me too.” He found his boxers and pulled them on, then sat at the edge of the bed. “Your room isn’t what I though it would be,” he said stupidly, gesturing around them.

“Are you joking, Jon?” Lovett said. “Are you _joking.”_

“No, I just—“ Jon shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“Something better than a comment about the décor in my _Guest Room_ Favreau, you’re supposed to be a fucking world-class wordsmith, but no, you’re just—fucking up my three most important relationships in one fell fucking swoop, so that’s fine!” Lovett said.

Jon thought that Lovett mad and ranting at him was probably better than Lovett blankly telling him how terrible they had been, so he let Lovett’s voice wash over him, watching how his hands moved in time with his voice, looking at the hair on his chest, where his dick must be hanging in his old sweats.

“Well?” Lovett said, like Jon knew anymore what to say now that Lovett had put his balls in his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” is what he said, which seemed truest thing to say. The bitter guilt that had settled behind his stomach felt separate from Lovett, standing in the doorway in Amazon sweatpants with drying come on his stomach.

Lovett laughed meanly and left the room, and Jon got off the bed and followed him.

“You are,” he said, but Lovett had already disappeared through another door. Jon followed him in.

This must be Lovett’s room then, Ronan and Lovett’s room—full of clothes and photos and with the comforter mussed in the middle of the bed.

“Lovett,” Jon said. Lovett was in the en suite, scrubbing come off his stomach with a wet cloth.

“Are you having a sexuality crisis?” Lovett demanded when Jon came into the bright bathroom.

Jon shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“ _Seriously?”_ Lovett asked. “You couldn’t have left me out of it?” He dropped the washcloth on the counter and turned to face Jon, and finally, finally, he was within reach again.

“Probably not,” Jon said, and reached for Lovett’s chin. Lovett was doing the thing he did where he avoided eye contact at all costs, but his body was listing toward Jon’s again.

“Lovett,” he said.

“We are _married,”_ Lovett said.

“You aren’t,” Jon said like it mattered.

“Your wife is one of my best friends in the world,” Lovett said, placing a steadying hand on Jon’s chest. “I am _finally_ living with the love of my life after eight fucking years,” he continued, but his hand was stroking across Jon’s pecs, his nipple, and Jon shuddered.

“Yeah,” Jon said, and for some reason now it struck him just how inebriated he was. Everything had a fuzzy sheen on it, and Lovett’s hand was on his nipple. “We can never do this again,” he said, and covered Lovett’s hand with his own, moved it down to his cock.

“Jon,” Lovett groaned, “that is the opposite of never again.” He cupped Jon’s dick though, holding it like it was precious.

“I know, I _know_ ,” Jon said, “but we’ve done it already tonight and I just… Lovett. I wanna get inside you so badly.” Jon wanted to crawl and deep as he could get into Lovett and never leave, never go back to the empty gnawing feeling that had been plaguing him for weeks now.

But Jon would settle for seeing him writhe on his dick. He let Lovett fall into him and kissed him, slower than before, deeper. He kissed down the side of Lovett’s face, his ear, his neck, his collarbone, then his lips again.

“I’m not superhuman, Jonathan,” Lovett said. “I don’t know about you, but you can’t expect me to get it up again just like that.”

“Shhh,” Jon said, and made out with him slowly. He tasted like Jon’s dick, which Jon _loved._ And he was pliant and soft, let Jon sit him on the bathroom counter between the two sinks and slot between his legs, mouth at his neck some more.

“No marks,” Lovett said, which made Jon want to leave a mark.

He pulled back instead, held Lovett’s face in his hands and just looked at him. In the stark light of the bathroom, he could see the crinkles at the edge of Lovett’s eyes in sharp relief. Jon’s breath caught. How many times had he looked at those wrinkles and thought of Lovett when they met ten years ago, about how many times he must have smiled since to show it in the lines of his face like that. Something about the lives they had built around each other had caused that. He traced his thumb out from Lovett’s eye, down his cheek, reveling in the scratch of his stubble.

“C’mon Jon, don’t do that,” Lovett said after a beat.

“Why not?” Jon asked, staring at a freckle above Lovett’s eyebrow that he’d never let himself look at before.

Lovett squirmed but didn’t pull away, just put a hand on Jon’s chest to create the illusion of space.

“Never again, remember?” Lovett said. “This isn’t— you can’t look at me like— this isn’t that.”

Jon collapsed his head on to Lovett’s shoulder and nodded, let Lovett bring his arms around him and stroke at his back.

“I want you so badly,” he whispered, and Lovett’s hand’s clenched against him.

“Yeah?” Lovett breathed.

Jon nodded again, and again and again until his mouth was back on Lovett’s. Young as he wasn’t, he felt his dick hardening again, so he grabbed Lovett close to him and let him feel it too.

“You _do,”_ Lovett said, wrapping his legs around Jon’s waist and rutting against him. “Can’t believe you want me. You want to fuck me?”

Jon groaned.

They rutted against awkwardly until Lovett had the presence of mind to push Jon back and clamber off the counter. “Not that this isn’t a wet dream come true,” he said, pushing Jon backward out of the bathroom, “but I’m built for comfort, not pornographic bathroom sex.”

Jon let Lovett push him flat to the bed, flailed a bit to push the bunched-up comforter to the ground first, and cursed as Lovett straddled him and ground down on his dick.

“Looking pretty pornographic to me,” he said, pinching at Lovett’s nipples.

“Shut all the way up,” Lovett said, and kissed him again. “Lube,” he said when he broke away, then dove back in until Jon’s lips were tingling. “Lube, we need lube.”

“Well,” Jon said in a moment where Lovett’s tongue wasn’t in his mouth, “do you have lube?”

Lovett scoffed. “Do I, noted homosexual Jon Lovett, have _lube?”_

“That was the question!” Jon said brightly.

He laughed at Lovett’s face, and Lovett groaned and covered his face dramatically. “Oh my god put your teeth away. Those are a weapon of mass destruction, Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Jon laughed, and slid his hand into Lovett’s hair and tugged, just to watch him keen.

“You heard me, Favreau.” Lovett panted. “Your gap teeth that break up your devastating good looks and make them endearing and attainable. You know what your teeth do to people.”

“I know what my teeth could do to you,” Jon said, smiling wider, laughing and Jon ducked his head in an honest to God blush.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me,” Lovett whined, grinding down on Jon’s dick, and yeah, he was fully hard now.

“I thought you were gonna get me lube so I could fuck you,” Jon said, leaning up to bite at Jon’s nipple.

Lovett laughed and pulled away, leaned over to rummage in the bedside table, so Jon took the chance to pull his sweats down as much as he could and cup at his ass.

Lovett yelped, then shoved his pants off as much as he could until they were a tangled but naked mess, and he had Lovett under him and Lovett had shoved the lube into his hand and spread his legs and Jon had a slick finger rubbing circles on Lovett’s hole.

Lovett bit at his shoulder when Jon pushed his finger in to the first knuckle, then groaned when Jon took it out completely.

“Not to make assumptions about your sexuality or experience,” he said, trying to grind back down on Jon’s finger. “But have you done anal before?”

“We tried once,” Jon pushing his finger back inside Lovett all at once. “She didn’t like it.”

Lovett swore. “Emily,” he panted, “Emily didn’t like this?”

Jon could pretend it didn’t make his dick jump to hear Lovett say Emily’s name like that, with Jon in him, but it did, it did. He kissed him again, and again, fucking one finger in and out.

Lovett turned his head to the side to break the kiss, panted, “Get some more lube, put another finger in me, crook your fingers up. I think it’s the same for women but what do I know?”

The sound Lovett made with two fingers crooked up into his prostate was incredible. He was flushed and sweating, Jon tasted it on him as he kissed through the hair on his chest and kissed at Lovett’s cock. Jon didn’t know about the relative attractiveness of dicks, but he loved this one. He kissed at it where it was leaking against Lovett’s stomach, licked at the tip.

Lovett swore.

“Jon, you’re beautiful, this is great, and you achieve everything you set your mind to, but we are not getting off in the weeds trying to teach you to suck dick right now,” Lovett said, pulling Jon out of him, up until they were pressed up along each other. Jon’s dick was resting along Lovett’s ass. He humped forward and they both moaned.

“Slick your dick up and stick it in me, you menace,” Lovett said, collapsing back on the pillows. Jon scrambled to obey, while Lovett rambled, “you said you wanted to fuck me then _fuck_ me—“

Jon jacked his cock a few times with the lube, hitched Lovett’s leg over his arm and rubbed his cock along Lovett’s crack. “You gonna let me in?” he asked.

“ _Yes,”_ Lovett said, “obviously, _obviously—”_ and hooked his free leg around Jon’s waist and pulled him forward into that tight heat.

“Lovett,” he said, “Jon—“

“That’s me,” Lovett said, but it ended on a whine when Jon pulled back a little and fucked forward. This was _hard_. Like Lovett’s body wanted him and was rejecting him at the same time, not like fucking straight into Emily’s eager pussy. But he rolled his hips and ground down and Lovett opened up and finally they got him all the way into Lovett’s body.

Jon let himself pant and mouth kissed into Lovett’s temple until Lovett’s body relaxed and he nodded for Jon to go ahead.

This was heaven, the slow drag of his dick, tight like Jon had never really experienced before.

“How does he fuck you?” Jon asked, fucking mindless. Lovett’s body convulsed, like he’d be wriggling away from Jon if he didn’t have him split open and pinned beneath him.

“Jon—”

“Tell me,” Jon said. “Tell me how he fucks you.”

“No,” Lovett said, firmly, but his eyes were sparkling at the corners. “This isn’t that either.”

“What is it then, Lovett,” he said, setting a rhythm just the wrong side of too fast. “It’s not that, it’s not the other thing, what kind of fucked up is this?”

Lovett didn’t dignify him with an answer, pulled him down and kissed him until the punishing speed caught up with Jon and he had to slow down.

“Shhh,” Lovett said, petting his hair when he tucked his head into Lovett’s shoulder. Jon was crying again, a little, but everything was just so much and he didn’t really think he could be blamed.

But if whatever they were doing wasn’t _that_ and it wasn’t _the other thing_ , Jon knew if could at least be good for Lovett, he could at least make him come again, put every ounce of self-pity into this performance. He shifted back onto his knees and pulled Lovett onto his dick. And Lovett, God bless him, gave as good as he got, arching into it, fucking down on Jon while pulling at his own cock, moaning at every thrust like he really meant it.

“Can you come on my dick?” Jon gasped.

Lovett nodded. “As long as you don’t fucking stop, just, right there, right _there.”_

Emily got like this when she was close too, just repeating instructions and profanity until he got her there, shaking and coming for him.

Lovett finally tensed and covered his stomach in thin ropes of come. Jon spared half a second of thought for the lack of a condom before he came deep in Lovett’s shuddering body.

Neither of them cried after, and neither of them scrambled to get dressed. Jon pulled out slowly, petting his hand down Lovett’s thigh, then rearranging them so Lovett had his head on Jon’s chest and Jon could thread his fingers through his hair.

“Thanks,” Jon said.

“I’d say any time,” Lovett said, “but… we can literally never do that again. Not in a cute way. We can not.”

Jon nodded, and pulled Lovett closer.

He knew the moment they got out of this bed, left this room, this would have to be a distant memory. He would retrieve Leo, wave goodbye at the doorstep, and not come back to Lovett’s house until he and Emily were invited with Tommy and Hanna for a Crooked founders and plus-ones house warming, when they would bring red wine as a gift like adults, and Jon would let Ronan show him the finished bookshelf and act like he hadn’t fucked his boyfriend in their bed, like Jon’s come had never dripped from Lovett’s body or like Lovett hadn’t pushed up onto his elbow and looked at Jon and kissed him for a long time after their dicks were soft and their come was dry, like this could be theirs for as long as they cared to take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to Jonathan Favreau for working out some shit on him.
> 
> Keep it secret, keep it safe, but give me your feedback? I'm on tumblr @feedonthespectres.


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